


Chances Are

by crazyTXgradstudent



Category: John Wick (Movies), John Wick - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, BAMF John Wick, Continental Hotel (John Wick), F/M, John Wick (Movies) References, Post-John Wick (2014), The Continental, The High Table, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17772005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyTXgradstudent/pseuds/crazyTXgradstudent
Summary: This will take place after John Wick 2, and for the sake of making it work, John didn’t kill Santino D’Antonio.Yet.So in this story, John's not excommunicado.Yet.It’s been about 2 years since his wife died....





	1. Chapter 1

**Chances are you'll find me,**  
**Somewhere on your road tonight.**  
**Seems I always end up driving by.**  
**Ever since I've known you,**  
**It just seems you're on my way.**  
**All the rules of logic don't apply.**

 

 

I watched him from under my lashes as I’d done for the past 2 years since he’d shown up in the shop the first time. All this time later, and he still managed to elicit the same response – my heart would feel like it was pounding in my chest, my breath would become more shallow. I was jittery without having had any coffee. My hands would shake. I’d self-consciously push my hair back, wipe my hands down my face and check the corners of my eyes for mascara crumbs – doing anything I could to look as presentable as possible should he notice me.

But he never noticed me.

Never.

Not in all the time I’d been working here, had he done more than give me a curt nod, the barest hint of acknowledgement that he’d noticed I even existed.  He wasn’t rude, not by any stretch of the word. No, he was just politely dismissive. If that was even a thing.

He was methodical, very consistent. He always ordered the same thing: a large Red Eye with 2 pumps of dark chocolate syrup. To me, at least, it seemed very off for someone who presented as he did to order something like that. He was always so dark and brooding, so confident in his walk and stance. He seemed so serious, and at the same time so at ease with himself and his surroundings. To see him ordering anything with chocolate syrup just seemed odd. After he got his coffee, he’d walk to the small table at the back of the shop and sit, reading a newspaper for no more than 10 minutes. Then he’d throw away his cup, and off he went. Gone until the next day. And most everyday he showed up like clock-work, and always right after 9 am.

As luck would have it, I never was the one to get to make his order – the others always fought over his cup, whether he, or anyone else realized it or not.  It was almost comical to see the other two girls scramble over him, and I’d even seen them making a schedule of sorts over who would take the register when he showed up. Part of me was grateful to never have to actually face him head-on like that, but deep inside I was incredibly jealous that they seemed to get his attention, no matter how forced – _or how small_ – his smile was that he directed at them.

“Carrie!”

I nearly dropped the pitcher of water that I’d been filling for the past two minutes, so preoccupied with my thoughts of John.  I shut off the water as I heard my name being bellowed again across the shop.

"Carrie! Register, please!” Derick, the store manager, jerked his head over at the register as he caught my attention.

 _Oh god._ I looked around, frantically searching for the other two girls, and realizing for the first time that morning that neither was here. 

Oh god. _I was gonna have to do it today._ Oh god.

Nearly tripping over my own two feet, I made my way to the front register, my heart hammering in my chest as I realized I was going to have to take his order.   _His order._

“Can I help you, please?” Even I could hear how pathetic I sounded. I stared at the center of his chest, my eyes trained on the dark, black button holding his shirt together.

“Large Red Eye, 2 pumps of dark chocolate syrup.” The deep voice stated calmly. I refused to look at him, instead did the _whole watching from-under-my-lashes-thing-so-I-could-kinda-see-his- face-but-not-quite-enough-to-meet-his eyes_. I was so slickkkkk…..

“Okay, great.” I punched in the order on my register, still not looking at him. “That’ll be $5.48, please.” I still managed to not look at the man as I reached and took the twenty he’d slid across the countertop towards me.  I quickly pushed his change back towards him, feeling more relieved now that the transaction was almost over.

“Don’t you need my name? For the cup.” 

“Oh, your name is John, I got it.” I blurted out without thinking as I pulled out my Sharpie and wrote his name on said cup.   Realizing what I’d done, I finally looked up, my wide, brown eyes meeting his slightly narrowed, dark-brown ones. I could feel myself furiously blushing under his gaze, and I quickly looked away.

“You sure about that?” The man asked, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as my eyes furtively met his again. I’d swear on my meager paycheck that underneath that dark façade, he was laughing at me.

“I’m sorry. It is John, isn’t it?” I stammered out pathetically. This time, he did grace me with what could possibly be called a smirk. It wasn’t a smile, and it wasn’t a frown. It was something in-between and it was causing my belly to do some weird flip-flopping thing.

“Yes, Carrie, it’s John.”

If I could have died on the spot, I would have chosen that over standing here the way that I was.  The way my name sounded coming off his lips, the assuredness with which he said it, I couldn’t handle it. And I was ninety-nine percent sure that John knew I was on the verge of passing out, right in front of him. I nervously fiddled with my register, not knowing what else to do as I waited for him to leave. Mercifully, Derrick came around with John’s drink, and handed it to him.

“Mr. Wick,” Derrick nodded as he handed John his drink.

“Derrick,” John nodded back.

Once Derrick had retreated to the kitchen area, it was John and me, alone again. _Why hadn’t I just left when Derrick showed up??_ I stood there, nervously fidgeting with my register, not meeting his eyes, and prayed that he would leave.

“You have a good day, Carrie,” John finally remarked as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. He made his way back to his usual table, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. 

* * *

**12 hours later….**

I stretched my back, using my knuckles to work out the kinks as best as possible. The other two girls apparently had the flu, so Derrick had asked if I wanted to pull a double, and being broke like I was, I’d agreed. My back and feet, however, were completely against the idea, and now after 12 hours, they were screaming in agony.  With one last burst of energy, I lifted the trash bag and dragged it out back. I set it on the side of the door, knowing I couldn’t lift it into the dumpster.  Derrick would have to get it tomorrow when he or whoever showed up.  It was just me closing down the shop, and I was beyond ready to get home and take off my boots.

“Hello, Carrie.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at that deep voice calling from the shadows.  John stepped out, revealing himself from his hiding spot behind the shop. He walked over, effortlessly lifted the bag, and quickly threw it in the dumpster for me.  He turned back, a half-smile on his face.

“Mr. Wick. What are you doing out here?” I asked, suddenly chilled. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.

“You’re scared.” It was a statement more than a question. I nodded in agreement. “Why?” John asked, stepping closer.

 

“You make me nervous,” I admitted, my eyes darting back and forth to him.

“That seems to be an unfortunate by-product in my line of work,” John frowned. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” John disagreed. “That was never my intention.”

“Why are you out here, Mr. Wick?” I asked again.

“Please, call me John. And I’m out here…often,” John stated calmly. 

“What? Why?”

“You have some…disagreeable visitors…sometimes, and I feel the need to make sure you’re okay.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, wracking my brain to try to determine who he could be talking about. And did he just say he was going to make sure I was okay? What did that even mean?   John stepped a little closer, almost too close, and I felt myself rock back on my heels just a little. He was much taller when I was standing so close. 

“I know lots of things,” John stated calmly, looking down his nose at me.

“Like what?” I asked. What was that saying, curiously killed the cat? Why did I suddenly feel like a cat on it’s 9th life?

“I know you’ve been watching me.”

“How do you know that?”  I breathed out, my cheeks flaming.

“Because I’ve been watching you. Watching me.” He was smirking again. Even in the dark, I could tell he was smirking.

“You have?”

“I have.” John nodded down at me as he stepped closer. He’d completely eclipsed the light of the patio area, his broad frame overwhelming my much smaller one.

“But why?”  

“Why not?  You’re beautiful. I like to look at beautiful things.” John stated matter-of-factly.

“What? Me?” I stepped back, tripping over my own feet again – **that was two times in one day** – but was saved from breaking my neck when John caught me by my arms and pulled me up against his chest.  For just a moment, he held me there, his strong hands wrapped around my upper arms, and I let my muddled thoughts run amok as my chest was so tightly pressed against his. So this was what being held by John would feel like. Lord knows I’d imagined it more times than I was proud to admit…

“Yes. You.” He released me and stepped back. “Have dinner with me.” 

It wasn’t even a question, but more of a request.  One I didn’t feel I could say no to.

“I don’t even know you, Mr. Wick,” I protested weakly.

“Yes you do. My name is John. You’re Carrie. And we’ve known each other for about 2 years now.”

“You’re not some kind of murderer, are you?” I blurted out, still shocked at the turn of events.   

John snorted, unexpectedly. “If I said it was something like that, but not quite, would that change your mind about having dinner with me?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, when deep down I knew that if John asked me to jump off a bridge, I just might do it. 

“Then give me a chance. Have dinner with me.” He stepped closer again, bringing his hand up so that he could cup my cheek.  “Just dinner, nothing more.”

“Okay,” I agreed, clearly not thinking.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. No idea at all. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  **7 months later…**

“I can’t give you what you think you want from me,” John muttered as he shrugged his jacket back on.

“You don’t know what I want, John.” Protesting, I did my best to not cry in front of him. I knew John wasn’t the comforting type. At least as far as I thought, and to cry would be even more pathetic and needy—two things that I was sure John didn’t care for. “I don’t even know what I want.” 

I heard John huff out an exasperated sigh.

“You deserve a good man. A man that’ll give you the house and kids and dogs, and all the other typical shit a woman like you deserves and wants.” He adjusted the wrists of his coat before fastening the button at his neck.  “I can’t do that again. It didn’t work the first time. I won’t do that again.”

“What are you talking about, John?” I was crying now. I didn’t even care anymore. I just needed him to talk to me, to explain what was happening. _What couldn’t he do again?_

“If you stay with me, you will never be safe.” John turned to look at me, his mouth turning down into a frown as he took in my tears.

He looked strained, wearier than I’d ever seen him. He was breaking my heart. He walked over to me, and knelt before me, his head bowed as he tightly gripped my hands in his. It struck me for the first time in our short-relationship that he was being almost-vulnerable with me. I stared at the top of his dark head, my vision even blurrier as I realized what this meant.  In the time that we’d spent together, the stolen nights and secret meetings, the quiet moments before John went on his business trips, this was the first time he’d ever truly let down his guard with me.  

“John, I love you,” I whispered, revealing my most vulnerable part to him.

“Don’t.” His jaw hardened as he squeezed my hands tightly, his head dropping even lower 

“John-”

“Don’t say that.” He stood up, his back ram-rod straight as he walked away from me. He stood before the window, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared out over the city below. I don’t think I’d ever seen John with his hands in his pockets.

He turned back to me, his eyes haunted. “Please. Please don't say that again."

 

  

“Why not?” I dragged the blanket with me as I crawled off the chair and made my way to him. I stood before him, not daring to touch him. “John. Why not?”

“I’m going to do something tonight that I probably won’t come back from.” His eyes met mine, and I would swear that I saw a deep sadness in his eyes. The same sadness that I was feeling. “This is goodbye, Carrie. I won’t be back.”

I felt the tears start rolling down my cheeks, unbidden.  I no longer cared if John thought I was pathetic or needy. I needed him to know that I loved him, and that yes, I needed him.

John moved closer, stopping before me. He reached down and cupped my cheeks, his rough thumbs brushing away the tears as they rolled down.

“I need you to be okay, Carrie.”  He kissed me on the forehead.  “I need you to be okay, and I need you to be safe, always. I can’t promise that for you, so I’ve got to be the one to let go. Please understand. I’m doing this for you. Please understand.”  He looked at me, his dark eyes pleading as they met mine, and in that moment I understood what was really happening.

I was still crying, my words escaping me as I finally realized what John was doing. He was leaving me. Ending whatever this relationship thing was between us. He was ending it, whether I wanted it or not.  He pressed something cold into my hand, and I numbly looked down to see some kind of gold coin sat on my palm.   

“If I don’t come back, go to the Continental downtown. Ask for Winston. I’ve left him directions for when you come. Give this coin to him, he’ll understand. If they don’t let you in, show them this coin, tell them you got it from John Wick.”

“Why do I feel like I’m never going to see you again?” I whispered again ,looking down as I watched my fingers turning the coin over and over as I traced the markings on it.

"Because you probably won’t,” John replied. “I’m sorry, Carrie.” He kissed me once more, and then he was gone. 

I sat down in the chair again, wrapping the blankets around me to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. My whole body was numb, my heart broken and torn from my body. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**16 months later….**

“Thanks, Sarah,” I smiled as I scooped up Johnathan from his babysitter’s arms.  “How was he?”

“He was our typical Jonathan,” Sarah smirked. “Doesn’t like to sit still for a moment!”

“I’m sorry he’s such a handful,” I nuzzled my dark-haired baby boy, not sorry in the least.  He was just like his father, and I was grateful for that every day.

“Oh no,  Carrie! He’s a handful indeed, but he’s also got the sweetest, quiet way about him. This boy loves to snuggle,” Sarah smiled as she reached over and pushed some of the boy’s hair back off his forehead.  “It’s nice to see normal again, you know?”

“It is,” I agreed, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

“You gonna let that hair grow out longer, or is he getting a cut soon?”

“I’m partial to the long hair, but I do think I need to get him a trim at least.  When he gets filthy, it gets everywhere. Especially his hair.” I laughed as Johnathan yawned into my neck.  “Okay, let’s get this sleepy little man to bed.” 

“Okay, call if you need me. See you in the morning.” 

“Goodnight, Sarah.” I closed the door behind the sitter, kicking off my shoes as I locked it behind me.  

I made my way down to Jonathan’s room, being careful not to wake him as I laid him into his crib. While I loved going to school, and having a reliable sitter that lived practically on-site, I hated that I wasn’t able to do simple things such as bathe Jonathan every night, and that he went straight to bed on more than a few nights after I got home.  I knew I was blessed in being able to afford school, this house, and a babysitter like Sarah, but I still hated being a single parent. But, even if I never saw him again, I wanted John to be proud of what I’d done with all that he’d gifted me. John had given me more than just financial security. I knew he wouldn’t want me to roll over and die, to let situation and circumstance take me under. John had given me so many reasons to move forward.

He’d given me a reason to live when all I’d wanted to do was die.

Finding out I was pregnant with John’s baby had literally saved my life.  Looking back, I could recognize and accept how pathetic it was for me — _or anyone for that matter!_ —to get so upset over a man that you wanted to kill yourself, but that was exactly where I’d found myself. I lost my job at the shop, no longer interested in working if John wasn’t going to be there. I never went looking for Winston or _The Continental_ when John didn’t come back.  I actually never bothered going to find the man he called Winston at all; in fact, Winston had been the one to find me. Well, he’d sent some “associates” as they’d called themselves, to my room at the hospital when I’d been admitted after overdosing.  It was during this stay that I realized I was pregnant with Johnathan. The only thing I remembered about that night was feeling so numb, and yet in so much pain, and I just wanted everything to stop.  When John didn’t come back, I couldn’t accept that he was gone, and thinking that he might be hurt- or worse -, well, that was even harder for me to reconcile. I can’t even remember what I’d taken that night, though I’m told it was a bottle of sleeping pills.  I just wanted it to stop. When I’d woken up, the nurse had explained what had happened to me, and introduced my “cousins” to me:  two females that sat in the corner, both sharply dressed from head to toe. They were definitely not my cousins. Once the nurse left, they informed me that they were associates of Winston, and would be ensuring that I and the baby remained safe.  

The baby was a shock, to say the least.  John and I had always taken precautions. Always. So how it had happened, I had no idea, but it was absolutely John’s. And now, with John gone, the baby was the one thing that kept me going when all I’d wanted to do was quit on life.

So many ways things could have gone wrong, but even from afar, John was always taking care of business. Always taking care of me.  Taking care of us.

When I’d finally met Winston, it was much later, while I was deep in my pregnancy. Winston had affectionately – _or brazenly, I couldn’t tell which_ – called the man I loved Johnathan, and that had given me the inspiration for naming our son the same. I couldn’t tell what relationship Winston had with John, but he always spoke of him very highly it seemed. And I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I might have seen something akin to fondness the first time the older man had met baby Jonathan while we were out on a walk.  Winston had made sure I was taken care of after learning of John and I, and the baby. Winston was how I found a home, and I was fairly certain Winston had hired Sarah- the babysitter, and Thomas - the gardener/pool guy, from a special pool of applicants that only someone like Winston was privy to. I might not work like John and Winston, but I wasn’t stupid either. Sarah was in incredible shape for a sitter, and there was no way Thomas was some random dude from off the street.

Winston had never told me what had become of John, and I had no preconceptions that he would ever tell me anything. I had heard rumors of John Wick, and what really went on at _The_ _Continental,_ and after meeting Winston, I was inclined to believe that the less I knew about John, the better.  It didn’t make it sting any less, though. I needed to know John was okay. I needed to know where he was, and if he was ever coming back. And if he wasn’t coming back, I needed that closure.  I needed to know that what we had was over, once and for all.

Winston would never tell me one way or the other, so I didn’t ask after the first time.

But that didn’t change my feelings for John. I still loved him. I probably always would.  One day, Johnathan would know what a good man his father was. How he’d taken care of his son, and the mother of his child. Despite what John had said about himself, I knew he was a good man caught in impossible situations.  Winston had alluded to as much, and from all the other rumors and bits of info I’d heard, I knew it wasn’t a life John wanted to remain in forever. In fact, I now knew what John meant when he’d said he _“wasn’t going to do this again”_ , and that _“it didn’t work the first time"._ Before I was with him, John had a wife, who was sadly taken from him much too soon.  Someone had stolen John’s car, and killed his dog - the last gift his wife had given him – and essentially forced John out of retirement.  Part of me was sad that I didn’t get to experience what John had with Helen, and yes, I was a little jealous of the woman who’d tamed John Wick. But then I’d immediately feel guilty, because I l also loved John. And if at one point in his life, John had been happy – _even with someone else_ – I would be happy, too. John deserved happiness, whether he believed it or not.  And because of all of this, I would choose to believe that John loved me. To give me up, to leave me the way he did, John had to love me.  That’s what I would choose to believe.

His heart just couldn’t go through it again.

I sniffled, wiping away the tear before it had a chance to roll down my cheek.  I was still standing before the baby’s crib, so wrapped up in my own thoughts as the night crept in. Lightning struck from somewhere off in the distance, a promise of rain to come.

Kissing Johnathan on the forehead, I made my way back to my room. I quickly showered, and changed into sweats and one of John’s old tee shirts that I’d stolen from him and still had. The night he’d left me, I’d taken all of his remaining clothing with me— bloody and torn, the ripped and burned—all of it. I made my way to the kitchen,  grabbing a beer and a bag of chips, and plopped down on the couch, my textbook in hand. I had so much studying to do.

The doorbell rang.  I frowned, wondering what Sarah had forgotten. 

“Coming!” I called, hoping to catch it before it rang again and woke the baby.  I pulled the door open, and there he was.

“Hi.”  John stared back at me, his face and hair wet from the rain that was steadily falling.

“Jo..John?” 

"Yes.”

“What are you doing out here?”   Déjà vu set in, a flashback to our first meeting outside the coffee shop when I’d ask him the very same queston.  

“I’m coming home,” John stepped forward. “If you’ll let me.” 

“ _If I’ll let you?_ What?! **John!** ”  I jumped into his arms, wrapping mine around his neck as I pressed my body to his. I was crying. John was laughing. We were both getting wet from the rain that continued pouring down.

“Are you back for good, John?” I asked as I pressed my lips to his neck, savoring the taste of him after so long and thinking I’d never see him again.

“Yeah. I’m thinking I’m back.” He pulled me from around his neck and kissed me, He pressed his forehead against mine.. “For good this time.”

 

 


End file.
